While I’m resting at the second aid stop of the Mammoth Tuff bike race, my wife calls me. “We have a 5:30 reservation for dinner at Austria Hof. That’s all they had available. You going to make it?”

“It’s 3 o’clock now? It’s only 10 more miles. I’ll be back in time.” In reality I wasn’t so sure. I had 65 miles in my legs already. The altitude, between 6,000 and 8,000 feet, was grinding me down. There was still 1,000 feet of climbing to go. And there was a 25 mph headwind gusting up to 35 mph.

I was beat. I should have listened to the organizers’ words. “Tough” is right there in the name. “It will be hard” were the first words on the website. One of the organizers warned “You will go to dark places mentally.” I had dismissed that as macho marketing. Like “You’ll grow a third testicle. Or a replacement if you’re Lance Armstrong.” But they weren’t kidding.

Going into the ride, the distance didn’t concern me. I’ve ridden much more than 75 miles. The elevation gain, about 5,000 feet, didn’t bother me either. I’ve done nearly double that. The gravel didn’t concern me either. Sure, it’s harder than riding on asphalt, but I’ve done long gravel rides before. How I’d react to the altitude was a bit of an unknown. At that altitude there’s only about 75% of the oxygen at sea level, but I figured I could just ride a little slower than usual. The wind was something I didn’t anticipate.

The day started bright and early with the prerequisite pre-race strutting and dick measuring contest. It was cold, so I pulled up my lycra shorts and made my way to the back of the pack. I wasn’t riding to win. I just wanted to finish, so I wanted to stay out of the way of those who were racing.

The first couple miles were downhill on pavement before turning onto gravel roads into the forest and onto the first small climb to spread out the group. The road was sandier than I expected, and I could feel the elevation, but I paced myself. So far so good.

We crossed under Highway 395 and started up Lookout Mountain. Damn, this road is really sandy. Prior to the race one of the organizers had said something like “Go practice riding through a volleyball pit.” I thought that meant there would be a few spots of sand, not miles of it. Made it to the top of the climb, time to relax on the downhill. Nope. The road was broken asphalt with drops into the sand. Had to concentrate to find a good line and continue pedaling through the sand. Nevertheless, I persisted and made it out to Owens River Road. Gotta pee. I make my way behind a tree for another dick measuring contest. At least it was warming up.

Nice asphalt downhill on Owens River Road into the valley and back onto the gravel. This should be the easy part of the ride. The road is slightly downhill. No wind. The scenery is beautiful. But it’s still hard to pedal. The road isn’t exactly sandy, but it’s still kind of soft and washboarded making the pedaling more difficult than it should be.

Approaching Hot Creek I have to pee again. No cover here, so I walk a few yards off the road, make sure nobody is approaching, and relieve myself on some sagebrush. Walking back to the road, I spot the race photographer with his telephoto lens. I hope he got a good shot.

Back onto the asphalt of Benton Crossing Road for the next climb. Out in the middle of nowhere I pass a jogger who is just flying. She must be Kenyan. Apparently lots of runners use Mammoth Lakes for altitude training.

Made it to the top of the climb without incident and onto the turnoff for more gravel on Casa Diablo Cutoff. The next bit is downhill, so hopefully I can rest a bit. Nope. Still sandy and I still have to pedal downhill.

Got to the junction with Casa Diablo Road for the next climb. But first I’ve got to pee again. What is it about elevation that makes me have to pee so much? The climb isn’t so bad. Slower than I think it should be, but pacing myself I make it back to Benton Crossing Road for a nice downhill to the first aid stop 45 miles in. Gotta pee again.

After the aid stop it’s straight onto Deer Spring Road for the biggest climb of the day. On paper it doesn’t look bad, about 1000 feet over five miles, but the loose road surface and altitude make it impossible to sustain any power. I have to get off and walk a steep section. Then at the top it gets sandy like the volleyball pit I should have trained in, and I have to walk some more. I start going to the dark place. Why am I doing this? This is stupid. I’m stupid for thinking I should do this. Shut up! This is what you signed up for. You wanted the challenge? This is the challenge. Deal with it.

Finally got to the top. Time for a downhill recovery. Wrong. The first couple hundred yards were a 20% descent with thick sand covering an uneven surface below. Fearing that I would hit an unseen bump and fly over my handlebars, I decide to walk that section. But when I get back on, I still have to pedal on a 10% descent. Crazy. The Strava segment is called The Sandiest Descent Ever. No rest for the stupid.

Made it to the bottom of the hill and right onto Benton Crossing Road to head for home. The worst is over. Hey, where did this headwind come from? I’m going downhill on asphalt and I still have to pedal. Back to the dark place. OK, break the remaining ride into smaller pieces and knock those off one by one. First to the Owens River. Done. Get to the second aid stop at Hot Creek. Done.

At the second aid stop riders are looking rough. “I’m totally destroyed,” said one. Another can’t go on, feeling the effects of the altitude, and the staff try to find a ride to the finish for him. I have to pee again and reapply some Chamois Butt’r.

Knowing I have to make it back for dinner and that if I linger longer I might never leave, I grab some caffeinated gels and head out. Knowing my judgment is declining, I separate the gels from the extra packets of Chamois Butt’r so I don’t confuse the two.

Break up the ride into ever smaller segments. Get to 395. Get off 395 and onto the side road. Cross under 395 and to the last gravel section. Finish the gravel section. Climb to the finish. The headwind pushes me further into the dark place. I have to get off and walk a few sections of the uphill. It wasn’t steep at all and normally wouldn’t be a problem, but my legs were shot. I’m getting passed by riders who did the 105 mile course looking fresh. Assholes.

Finally made it to the finish. The organizers were there to cheer on the stragglers. I mumble, “You weren’t kidding that it would be hard.”

Now the last challenge, carrying my bike to our room on the third floor. Cramps. Finally I make it to the door. My wife opens the door looking like she’s ready to chew me out for being late, but instead she says, “You look dead.”

“It was hard,” I croak pitifully.  Dinner at Austria Hof was excellent.

So would I do it again?  Maybe, but I’d probably do the 45 mile route or spend some time at altitude to get acclimated.  Should you do it?  If that’s your bag, sure.  It’s a well run event and the scenery is beautiful.  But be warned, it will be hard, and you will go to dark places.  Like STEVE SMITH.